


The Thought That Counts

by rahleeyah



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:29:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rahleeyah/pseuds/rahleeyah
Summary: My entry for Blake Secret Santa 2019. This one is for randomkiwibirds, who gave the prompt "Malice + ugly sweaters." At Christmas, Alice has an unexpected gift for Matthew.
Relationships: Alice Harvey/Matthew Lawson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	The Thought That Counts

"I do have a present for you," Alice said, as matter-of-factly as if she were commenting on the weather, and not revealing that she had done something so intimate as purchase a Christmas present for Matthew, to be given to him far away from the prying eyes of their well-meaning friends. It was only the fidgeting of her hands, clasped together in her lap, and a slight tightening at the corners of her eyes that revealed her true uncertainty, her hesitation. These little signs Matthew had come to learn during pleasant interludes such as this one, when they were alone, when they were quiet, when they were together and Alice was comfortable enough to let him see the truth of her doubtful heart.

"You didn't have to buy me anything, sweetheart." He said it because he felt he must; he had not purchased a gift for Alice, as such. A weekend spent at a fine hotel in Melbourne to celebrate the coming new year was hardly a gift she could unwrap, hold in her hands, place on her bookshelf and look at fondly, though he hoped she would treasure the memory of those few days as dearly as any other bauble he might procure for her. That particular gift he had been saving, intended to share with her when he drove her home after supper at the Blake's, when she would invite him in and they would stare at one another shyly, both knowing he would not leave again until morning, both charmed by the very idea. He had chosen to wait to reveal it to her so that she would not feel the need to reciprocate, so that she would not rush out and try to find something that might even the score between them; he did not want the score to be kept. What Matthew wanted, more than anything else, was to make Alice happy, to see her smile, to give to her all the little joys, all the little pleasures, all the little pieces of hope that life so far had denied to her.

"I didn't buy it, actually," she told him. She was not smiling, exactly; Alice rarely smiled, and when she did Matthew's heart sang to see it. More often though he was blessed with an expression much like the one she wore now, soft and somehow surprised, as if she could not quite believe that he was really here, next to her on the little settee in the sitting room of her cozy cottage, come to fetch her and take to a home that burst with noise, and laughter, and people who loved her. Alice was not much accustomed to love, the giving or the receiving of it, whether it came from a friend who held her dear or a man who adored her.

"Well," she amended, "I suppose I bought the component parts, but the actual gift itself, I...well, I made it for you, Matthew."

 _That_ was a surprise, and if he were telling the truth Matthew would be forced to admit that her confession inspired a sense of trepidation in him. Alice was brilliant, shockingly clever - _much cleverer than me,_ Matthew had told her more than once - and imminently capable in her chosen field. She was thorough, and dedicated, and wove a certain kind of magic in her lab. But though the list of her skills was long and illustrious, she lacked a certain knack for more... _domestic_ tasks. Her attempts at cooking had been few, and disastrous. In the early days of their tentative love affair Matthew had choked down more than his fair share of burnt biscuits and dry, strangely seasoned meals, but as they grew to understand one another - and as Matthew managed to convince her that he loved her for a good many reasons, and domesticity was not one of them, nor did it need to be - she gave up all pretense of homemaking. They ate fish and chips, more often than not, or a nice hearty breakfast made by Matthew's own hands, and they were content. Knitting, baking, gardening and handicrafts; those things were rather more Jean's forte than Alice's, but it was Alice he loved, and he would not change a thing about her.

If she had gone to such lengths, however, had with her own hands made a gift for him, Matthew was determined to treasure it and praise her for it, for no matter what it was or how clumsily it had been made, it had been made by _Alice,_ with love, and that made it rarer than diamonds, more precious than anything else in the world.

"Go on, then," he said, gently. "Let's see it. We don't have much time."

The clock was ticking, and they were due at the Blake residence any moment. Alice could have driven herself, of course, but if she had they would have been denied this opportunity to sit close together, to kiss one another as they had done when she opened the door for him, to enjoy a moment of peace made just for them before they stepped into the maelstrom of noise that was the Blake residence. It was worth the minor inconvenience of driving out to her cottage and back again, just to spend this time with her.

"All right," she said, and rose to her feet. She made to leave him, but turned back for a moment, her brow furrowed as if in worry. "You must promise not to laugh," she told him, and though to anyone else's ears those words might have sounded like a command, Matthew heard the quiet plea couched within them. Vulnerability did not come easily to Alice; she had been hurt too often in her life, discarded and mocked and sometimes met with outright cruelty, and her heart was made weary and watchful because of it. Matthew had spent a great deal of time, over the previous months, doing his best to shower her with an affection that was genuinely meant, encouraging her as best he could to see herself as he did; beautiful, and brave, and strong, tenacious and kind, exactly, perfectly, brilliantly _Alice,_ and everything that mattered most in the world to him.

"I promise," he answered seriously, meaning it. This seemed to satisfy her, and so she departed, returning in a moment with an oddly-shaped parcel wrapped in brown paper clutched in her hands.

"Merry Christmas, Matthew," she said as she handed it to him, standing before him looking nervous somehow, as if she had never in her life given a present, and had no idea how it might be received. In return Matthew grinned up at her, settled the parcel on his knees and reached for her hand. With a gentle tug he pulled her down beside him, wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he answered, and then he kissed her once, softly, a kiss not borne of heat or need but simply of his love for her, his desire to show her just how glad he was to be sitting beside her, on Christmas day. When he pulled back she was blushing, just a little, and smiling at him hopefully.

"Go on, then," she told him, and so he did, carefully tearing the brown paper to reveal the treasure within.

"I asked Jean to teach me, over the winter," she explained as he pulled the paper away. He could see that the gift was fabric, heather grey and soft, but it was lumpy, and oddly made, and he could not immediately discern its true nature.

"I had a lot of time on my hands in the evenings. Well, the evenings when you weren't here," this last she added with a knowing look, and Matthew grinned, remembering how they had kept themselves warm in the depths of winter. "She was very patient with me, but I'm afraid I'm just not very good at it."

With a flourish Matthew shook out the grey fabric, and it resolved itself to his mind as he held it up. It was a jumper, thick and warm; there had been some attempt, he could see, at adding a design of cobalt blue in the very center of it, but he could not for the life of him figure out what it was meant to be. One sleeve was a bit longer than the other, the hem uneven, the seams shocking, and it was, without question, the best present Matthew had ever received in his entire life.

"It's awful, I know," Alice said quickly, her good cheer fading. "I meant for there to be an _M_ on the front, for Matthew, but I just couldn't get the knack of it. You don't have to wear it, it's just that I spent so much time on it I didn't go out and get you something else, and now it's Christmas, and this is all I-"

Matthew cut off her rambling apology sharply, with a kiss. His hand tangled in her hair and he pulled her close, swallowed the sound of her quiet gasp and rejoiced when she sank against him, softened in his arms and let him hold her, love her, just as she was. Had it not been for their looming appointment at the Blake's Matthew might well have let himself get carried away right then, might have trailed his kisses down her neck and settled his hand on her hip and let the afternoon take them where it would, but obligations to their friends - and the thought of their questions, should he and Alice not materialize - held him back, and at last he pulled himself away from her, breathless and happy.

"It's perfect," he told her, and then to prove his point he rose carefully to his feet, using the back of settee to balance himself until he was sure that he could stand. And then, without a moment's pause, he pulled the jumper on over the plain white shirt he wore, tugging it firmly into place. It was much too big for him, and that one rogue sleeve meant he'd need to cuff them both to save Alice's dignity, but he loved it, because he loved her.

"Oh, Matthew," she said despondently, "it's terrible. You can't wear that. And it's the middle of summer, you hardly need it, I never should have-"

"It's perfect, and I'm never taking it off," he told her. "This is the best present I've ever had, sweetheart. Thank you."

Alice was as unaccustomed to gratitude as she was to love, but though for a moment it looked as if she doubted the truth of his words Matthew remained firm, and a slow, hopeful smile blossomed across her face.

"I don't want a jumper like the ones Jean makes, something that looks like it came from a store. I want _this,_ something _you_ made. Every time I wear it, I'll remember that you took the time to make this for me, and I'll love it. As much as I love you."

Alice looked quite overwhelmed; they did not often speak to one another so plainly. There seemed to be very little need; they spent several evenings a week tangled up in Alice's little bed together, and ventured occasionally to the Rex, or the park. Matthew held her hand, and kissed her, touched her, showed his love to her, and they did not either of them feel compelled to speak the truth they both knew in their hearts. But just now, in this moment when Alice had risked humiliation to show her love for him, Matthew knew he had to tell her that he felt just the same, and so he did.

It was, in truth, the ugliest jumper he'd ever seen in his life. And he adored it.

"Jean told me something about knitting jumpers," Alice said then, looking up at him with shining eyes. "She said that knitters have a superstition, about giving jumpers to...romantic partners. They say it destroys relationships, that they're cursed. But Jean told me it's not that knitting a jumper brings bad luck, but rather that if a woman spends a lot of time and energy making something like this, pouring all her love into it, thinking for hours about the man she wants to give it to and what their future might be like, only to have him not appreciate how much effort she put into making it, well, then that woman might realize that he's not the man she thought he was, after all. That's why a jumper can end a relationship. I thought about that, when I was knitting. I wondered if you would be one of those men, who doesn't care a thing at all about the jumper or the woman who made it."

As Alice spoke Matthew stood silent, wondering how to respond or whether he ought to at all, but he need not have worried. When she finished her little speech - rather a lot more uninterrupted oration that Alice usually gave - she rose to her feet, and quite suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"But you're wonderful," she said softly, her voice muffled against his skin.

Matthew did not know what lay in store for them. He did not know how this journey they had begun between them might end, whether one day, one day soon, he might pull a little ring from his pocket, and ask Alice to be his, to let him be hers, for the rest of their days. She was not much a one for ceremony or cultural institutions, did not understand why a woman might give herself over to a man. But he hoped, in his heart, that one day, one day soon, she might realize that Matthew did not want to take her, change her, make her into a housewife. All he wanted was to give himself to her, to spend every moment he could in her company, for them to make one another happy in their own quiet, steady way. The way she held him now gave him hope, for it showed how much she trusted him, and that he had proven himself worthy of that trust. There was to his mind no better present in the world.

"I love you," he whispered against her hair, and then she lifted her chin, smiled up at him so earnestly, so gratefully, that he had no choice but to kiss her then. They stood thus intertwined for quite some time, before Matthew caught hold of her hand, and led her out of the cottage.

By the time they arrived at the Blake's Matthew was sweating under the weight of the jumper, but he resolved himself to offer no word of complaint. They walked to the door together, one of Matthew's hands resting on his cane, the other firmly holding onto Alice's. When Lucien opened the door the sound of cheerful voices floated out to them, and Lucien kissed Alice's cheek, reached out to shake Matthew's hand before they went trouping inside. Alice made a beeline for the kitchen, no doubt hoping to speak to Jean, and Lucien and Matthew lingered for a moment in the foyer.

It did not escape Matthew's notice that Lucien was wearing a new jumper, too, despite the heat. Lucien's was a rich burgundy, and finely made; it fit him well, the seams were tight, and Jean - for there was no doubt in Matthew's mind that Jean had made it herself - had with her skilled hands knitted a white fair isle pattern around the collar.

"New jumper?" Lucien asked him with a knowing grin, gesturing to Matthew's own lumpy grey attire.

"Not a bloody word," Matthew grumbled warningly. Lucien just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, and together they walked down the corridor to the kitchen where their women were waiting, both their hearts full of love.


End file.
